


sugar with a dash of cinnamon

by biscuit_things



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A thing, Artist Keith (Voltron), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Its nice tho, Keith (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Keith (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Musician Lance (Voltron), Not Beta Read, Orphan Keith (Voltron), really emotive yenno, there really isnt a plot here its just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26790400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuit_things/pseuds/biscuit_things
Summary: Keith’s paintings were a reflection of his spirit.He painted freedom and kindness and everything his childhood was stripped of. Family was people paid to be his parents and children forced into treating him like one of them, so his brushes never painted a stroke of happiness to portray it. Topped with a dash of his soul and fragments of his heart, his paintings were gems to behold, but held a deep sadness unique only to his touch.Lance held the universe in the blue of his eyes. Freckles littered his cheeks, just below his eyes and along the bridge of his nose, as mesmerising as the stars, splattering constellations that Keith had committed to memory. He was bright and warm, with yellows and reds and greens painting his kaleidoscope of a personality.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	sugar with a dash of cinnamon

Keith’s paintings were a reflection of his spirit. 

He painted freedom and kindness and everything his childhood was stripped of. Family was people paid to be his parents and children forced into treating him like one of them, so his brushes never painted a stroke of happiness to portray it. Topped with a dash of his soul and fragments of his heart, his paintings were gems to behold, but held a deep sadness unique only to his touch.

His pictures told stories— stories of rain and thunderstorms, of lightning and thunder and roof leaks that were never fixed; of broken homes and lonely dinners; of cold food and colder beds; of fake promises made to him of warmth and brightness; of alleyway fights and bruised knuckles that no one ever tended to; of laughs and kicks with the other kids “like him” - odd and unwanted; of every person that made his grey days better, whose faces he could hardly recall because there were just  _ too many people in his life to remember; _ of tough lessons that only foster home life could teach you; that to keep your life, you had to fight.

His canvases held dreams— dreams of soothing touches and numbed pain; of his cravings of affection and the warmth of familiarity; of love, so pure and true that it could set his heart alight; of the innocence that, at a young age, he was so cruelly robbed of; of healing and contentment and unadulterated happiness. He had so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to  _ do, _ but never dared to. He lived in fear.

After all, fear was all he knew.

He liked to believe that it taught him strength and gave him a fighting spirit, but in reality, it washed away the embers of a soul that once burned so bright. The world was too big for Keith, too unpredictable. It made him feel insignificant. That his purpose lay only with a brush and canvas.

But that all disappeared when he was with Lance.

Lance held the universe in the blue of his eyes. Freckles littered his cheeks, just below his eyes and along the bridge of his nose, as mesmerising as the stars, splattering constellations that Keith had committed to memory. He was bright and warm, with yellows and reds and greens painting his kaleidoscope of a personality. 

He had an unmatched love for music. It was expressed in the glide of his fingertips over his baby grand, in every strum of his guitar, and in every syllable he sang, thick with emotion. His sounds resonated with the passion of a thousand suns, raw and bare for all to behold. It was piercing and heart-wrenching, yet soft and caressing. It was torturous, yet loving; brutal, yet kind. It stabbed Keith right where he would feel it most. And Keith loved every darn second of it.

It was Lance, after all.

And,  _ god _ , Keith thought Lance was  _ everything. _

Benign was Lance, soft, funny, and all things nice. To Keith, he was like cinnamon toast, all spice and flavour - plain and simple, but always a joy to have. He was attentive and so, so smart. He was someone that Keith was determined to keep in his life— a constant, something to hold on to, someone that  _ let him  _ hold on to them, when everything around him was crumbling and he was too tired to piece everything together. Keith could trust Lance. Lance never failed to draw Keith in with everything that he did. He was a magnet, and Keith caved without a hint of hesitation.

Lance was handsome, and had a lot of friends. He had a big family and a bigger heart. He was responsible, but curious to no end. These were things that intrigued Keith from the beginning, but Keith dug deeper and found what it was about Lance that had him so drawn to the Cuban boy.

It was in the way Lance talked. He was careful and patient with his words, even more so with Keith, and so, so tender. He always knew the right things to say. He knew when to say it.

It was in the way he did things. He was strong but careful, clumsy but nimble. He was always hungry for knowledge, and so was always experimenting. He learnt so fast. It enabled him to study Keith without Keith’s knowledge, and it created a path to Keith’s heart that Keith didn’t even know existed. 

Keith loved his touches. He would casually swing his arms over Keith’s shoulders whenever they were together, and Keith could never find it in himself to back away from it. It was in his soft and fond caresses. His hugs were so warm — Keith would melt into them as Lance ran his palms up and down his back, whispering sweet nothings that never failed to calm Keith’s raging nerves. It was in the way he would squeeze Keith’s hands under tables, hidden from the prying eyes of their friends, whenever Keith could feel himself slipping away.

(Lance was carving his own space in Keith’s life. 

Keith let him.)

It was in the way he held Keith on the bad nights, when the world chipped away at him a bit too much for him to handle. He would run his hands over the expanse of Keith’s sides and back, soft little kisses planted on his forehead as slow, quiet tears escaped from Keith. Lance would keep his lips planted there and whisper soothing words and promises — promises that he would always be there for Keith, that he was someone Keith could always lean on, that he would never leave. He never broke a single one. 

It was in the way he kissed Keith for the first time. Fireworks went off in Keith’s chest, heart nearly leaping out, and his whole body shuddered. Lance gently caressed his face, thumbing over his cheeks as he gently nipped at Keith’s bottom lip. His hands travelled down, slowly rubbing over Keith’s sides, and then wrapping themselves around Keith’s waist to pull him in closer. Keith’s own arms found their place around Lance’s neck. Keith only ever wanted to be closer. 

Keith was addicted to the macrocosm of delight that was Lance McClain.

Every moment after that meant so much more. Every brush of their shoulders, every nap they took together, every meal that they shared, every movie they watched, every night spent in the warm embrace of each other’s arms. Keith treasured every instant, as if they, too, would one day be unfairly ripped away from him. He held on for dear, dear life.

Mornings were easier to face now. They were especially so when he shared them with Lance, making pancakes, his hand resting on the small of Keith’s back. Falling asleep was no trouble, with the soft hum of Lance’s quiet snores and the constant beat of Lance’s heart lulling him. Every breath of Lance’s that Keith felt in his hair was filled with promises of days to come.

Keith learnt to love the night and bask in the light of the sun. He learnt to appreciate each gust of wind, each falling leaf, each sunset and sunrise, and every star he could see. He learnt how to love, how to be loved, what being appreciated and wanted felt like, and that life was so, so beautiful.

Lance held Keith’s heart in the palm of his hands and Keith wouldn’t have it any other way. And he was so, so happy.

Keith’s paintings were a reflection of his spirit. 

He painted freedom and kindness, the orange of the autumn day, the flowers of spring, the fireplace on a winter’s night shared with Lance by his side. Family was everything he had with Lance. Everything he needed, everything he wanted, was with him and he was content with placing it on a canvas.

**Author's Note:**

> HIIIIIIII EVERYONNEEEE  
> THANK YOU FOR READING!!  
> THIS IS LITERALLY MY FIRST PUBLISHED WORK FOR VOLTRON EVER AND IM SO EXCITED TO SHARE IT WITH YALL AAAAAA  
> LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK IN THE COMMENTS!!!!! <<<<<333333
> 
> also please please PLEASE follow my writing instagram, its [@biscuit.things](https://www.instagram.com/biscuit.things/) (i have literally 3 followers its so so sad)  
> you can send me requests! i will probably write them! come scream at me about my beautiful boys and i will scream back!
> 
> kudos if you like thissssss plssssss


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